Authors: Glen Robins
Western Caribbean Sea, 2 miles north-northwest of Providencia Island
June 16, 11:20 p.m. Caribbean Time
Collin checked the time on his dive computer for the hundredth time, it seemed. What was taking these guys so long to get here? If Penh was able to track the laptop the way Lukas was, certainly he must have given them the same coordinates. They should be swimming straight toward him. Not being able to see or hear them spooked Collin and made him worry that they were aware of his presence.
Collin waited in the thick blackness, motionless, wondering. His hand, held inches from his face, was invisible to him. The stillness and silence was eerie and disconcerting. He tried to control his breathing and keep his head under the overhanging bulkhead to catch and dissipate his bubbles. The waiting was killing him. What if they had seen his light or noticed movement? What if they were preparing a surprise attack? He played every scenario through in his head, which tested his patience as he waited for the two divers to enter the confined space of the cabin.
Finally, a banging on the hull, not far from the doorway announced the arrival of the two marauders who had come to steal Collin’s laptop. The thought angered him. The gall of Penh to send these guys to take what was not theirs. Thinking about the intentions of these two guys who were helping a scumbag like Penh fulfill his malicious aims brought a wave of heated fury to the surface, steeling Collin for what he would do next.
Collin pressed himself into the space between the steps and the passage to the bathroom as best he could and while his heart thumped and his pulse hammered in his ears, he tried to keep his bubbles from alerting the intruders to his presence. He also forced his hands to not shake.
The first diver struggled to fit through the doorway with all of his dive gear on. Collin struggled to be patient and wait for him to get all the way into the cabin and for the second diver to start squeezing through.
After he entered the space, the first diver swept his light in an arc around the cabin. Collin could hear the second diver’s tank clattering against the bulkhead above him and knew he was trying to enter through the narrow doorway. As the first diver turned toward the rear of the boat, Collin flicked his high powered dive light on full beam and pointed it right at the man’s face. At the same time, he rushed forward, knife in hand, and cut the man’s air hose. The man began to flap and flail. Collin turned in one motion toward the man stuck in the doorway and let the spear fly at center mass. Luckily, both divers wore thin three-millimeter wetsuits like his. The thrust of the spear with its three razor-sharp prongs was enough to pierce the wetsuit and lodge into the man’s body, producing a pinkish plume of blood. The second diver released a torrent of bubbles as he thrashed about trying to pull the spear out of his chest.
Collin whipped around to check on the first diver and found that he had recovered sufficiently to find his octopus, the secondary air hose and breathing regulator. With one smooth swipe, Collin cut that hose and the man’s exposed arm as he moved toward him.
Collin pulled the second man through the doorway into the cabin with a firm tug on his arm. The second man was thrust into the body of the first man, the end of the spear making contact first, pushing it deeper into the flesh. Collin grabbed the rubbery black bag with his laptop and pinned it against his ribs using his arm. He scurried through the tight opening as quickly as he could while the two men continued to struggle for survival. Pumping his legs and pulling with his free arm, Collin headed for the safety of the surface. That’s when he remembered two commandments of scuba that were drilled into his head during training: first, never ascend faster than your bubbles; and second, safety stops on the way up.
Collin checked his depth gauge and saw that he was already at seventy feet. He began to push backward to halt his progress and pressed the air release button on his buoyancy compensator to let out air and thus reduce its upward pull. At sixty-two feet, he halted and focused on counting to one hundred slowly. He turned off the light so as to not reveal his location. He pulled the strap over his shoulder to free up both hands. At the same time, he looked below him to see if there was any sign of pursuit. The dive computer was counting down while he was counting up. When he reached one hundred, the computer still showed thirty-three. Seeing splinters of light from below, he chose to ignore the computer and continue his ascent.
At thirty feet, he repeated the process for a safety stop, but since the lights from below were growing closer, it was all he could do to count to one hundred. He watched the timer on the dive computer. The lights were growing larger and brighter. Collin wondered what motivated them. He was nearly paralyzed as he watched them, trying to determine his next step. Without the spear, Collin was armed with nothing more than the Captain’s dive knife. Add to that the fact that he had the laptop hanging from his shoulder, which would further hamper his already diminished ability to attack. When he looked back at his dive computer, the counter had reached zero. Before he continued upward, Collin noticed the lights weren’t stopping. Maybe the bends would do his dirty work for him. He didn’t bother to stop at ten feet. The higher he rose, the faster his ascent, though he tried to slow down by releasing air from his BC. When he breached the surface, he had no idea which way to go. He used the compass to orient himself and began swimming toward the rocky islet where the plane was anchored.
Collin kicked and paddled at fast as he could, sensing his enemies would soon surface. He had no plan of attack, no plan of defense. Just swim like crazy to the plane. That was all he could think about—all he could do, really.
Seconds later, he heard splashes and voices behind him. The two had surfaced. Collin slowed to a stop to reduce his profile. One of the voices didn’t sound too strong. In fact, it was choked with pain. The other voice called out something he couldn’t understand. Then a powerful engine roared to life in the distance and started coming closer. Fearing he would be seen, Collin started to swim again, this time doing the breast stroke to maintain silence as best he could.
The engine noise slowed and Collin heard more voices, much closer this time. Then the engine cut to idle. His curiosity got the best of him. He turned toward the sound of the boat and watched in rapt fascination as the two men on board, with the help of the uninjured diver, hauled the guy with the spear into the boat. There was a flurry of activity and lots of yelling. There was stress and horror in the voices. The throaty purr of the engine came back full volume and the boat started moving again. At first, it moved toward the lights on the island in the distance. Then his heart dropped when he saw fingers pointing in his direction amid more yelling.
Collin checked in all directions and realized that the boat must have moved into a position where the people on board had been able to spot the plane, which was otherwise hidden behind the rocky islet. His presence underwater had alerted the divers, who likely wanted to return the favor.
The boat banked sharply in his direction and a powerful search light popped on, scanning to locate him. It found him as he fumbled to get his regulator in his mouth and deflate his vest so he would drop below the surface. Before he could manage any of that, he heard glass break and saw the diver standing in the front of the boat crumple to the deck. Before he was fully submerged, two more shots hit the side of the boat as it leaned hard into an about-face turn. Collin continued to descend, figuring it was safest to be under the water.
When he reached the wall of rock that rose at a steady angle to the surface, he moved north and west along that wall until he saw anchor lines. Looking up, Collin followed the ropes to where they were connected to the plane’s pontoons. He rose to the surface as the pilot, standing on one of the pontoons, began hauling up the anchors.
“Get in. Let’s go. We oughta getta move on now,” he said matter-of-factly.
Collin obeyed and within two minutes they were airborne again.
* * * *
Puerto Lampira, Honduras
June 17, 4:50 a.m. Caribbean Time
Collin stayed awake the whole flight back to the hut. It was still dark when they landed in the cove, yet the rifle man and the binocular man were in their familiar guarded positions near the hut.
Collin had spent much of the time talking with Lukas, learning all he could about his mother’s condition and how she had weathered the kidnapping and what her prognosis was for the cancer treatments. Lukas told him everything he knew, which was really everything Rob had passed on to Lukas, knowing Collin would need this information.
He asked about Emily. Lukas paused. “She’s hurting, Collin, but she’s going to be all right in the end. She’s a tough gal, and smart. She’ll be OK. Your whole family is looking after her.”
This knowledge, especially since it came from the ever-reliable Lukas Mueller, brought much needed comfort and solace to Collin’s soul. Lukas was never one to speak until and unless he had the facts and the belief in what he spoke.
“Rob says she’ll be staying a while at your parents’ home, in fact. Your sister and brother are there, too, so she’ll have lots of support. She needs that right now, you know.”
Collin thanked Lukas for the information and asked him to thank Rob for being there. He lamented killing Stinky and injuring one of the two divers, as well. Lukas talked him out of his remorse by reminding Collin of what they had done to him, Tog, his mother, and Emily.
“Remember, Collin, sometimes it’s requisite that one man die so many others can live,” Lukas said. “These men were themselves killers, guns for hire working for a proclaimed enemy of the United States and Western civilization. You’ve done your country a great service.”
“I wish I felt what you were saying,” said Collin.
“You will tomorrow,” said Lukas. “If not, the next day or someday very soon.”
The call ended and Collin was left to ponder these thoughts in tormented silence for the rest of the return trip.
By the time he reached Puerto Lampira, Collin felt like the walking dead.
The two men who inhabited the hut simply nodded at Collin as he trudged up the sandy beach. Something about them was different, like they could read him from far away. Likely, they knew what he had done and perhaps that qualified him for admittance to their fraternity. Maybe Lukas had told them, not that it mattered. Collin had only one thought on his mind as he treaded up the beach through the soft, thick sand.
“Got any more of that orange juice?”
Thank you for reading “Off Course.” I hope you have enjoyed sharing this portion of Collin Cook’s adventure. As a writer, I enjoy the opportunity to tell a story and would like to share it with the world. To that end, I humbly request your input. Please leave a review on Amazon and share you opinion with other readers. It helps them to know whether this is a book they might enjoy and it helps authors such as myself to find an audience who enjoys the kind of stories we tell.
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